


There Are No Gay Men In The NHL

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [20]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2011-2012 NHL Season, Angst, Anxiety, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Poor Brad, Workplace Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: He manages not to give in, to not let the small pilot light of anger burst into an inferno of rage. “I need to know what you said to my boyfriend just now.”“Oh, so you’re leading me to believe he didn’t immediately start complaining about it?” Julien chuckles.Patrice knows he means well, really, but it sounds so callous.“Coach, forgive me, but I don’t think this is very funny.” He swallows. He’s not going to yell if he can help it. “What did you say to Brad?”





	There Are No Gay Men In The NHL

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic while I was fighting with my boyfriend, so... angst.

The worst thing you can say is nothing at all.

Patrice is about to find this out the hard way.

“…so Julien said I need to take a step back or whatever, because it could be like hero-worshipping or some shit,” Brad finishes. “And something about ‘hurting the organization’ or whatever. Isn’t that fucking stupid?”

Patrice tries to process this. “Well… Marchy…” He can’t get the words out. He doesn’t want to agree with Julien about this. It’s only been a couple of months and he already knows he loves Brad. But he’s 26 and still can’t figure out how to admit to his family that he maybe doesn’t like women so much for romantic partners, and Brad’s always getting in trouble, and if Julien has said these things there’s probably a good reason for it.

And his expression must be too open, because Brad is staring. “Wait… you don’t… you don’t actually think he’s right…?”

“Brad-”

“Oh my god, you fucking think he’s right.”

 _No, Marchy, of course I don’t,_ Patrice thinks, but the words won’t find his mouth.

Brad looks like he doesn’t know whether to be sick or spontaneously combust.

“Oh my fucking god. You think he’s right,” Brad repeats. His ears and his neck are bright red, and in a few seconds his face will be, too. “Just. Wow. Fucking wow, Bergeron. Y’know the other day Seggy asked how I got good enough for you, and he was kidding, but I guess he was right, huh? I’m really actually not.” He’s getting loud, his hands are balled into fists. Patrice almost wants Brad to hit him, because maybe then he’ll be able to unglue his tongue and say what he needs to. “So why the fuck didn’t you just turn me down? There’s tons of good reasons you could’a gone with, right? I’m stupid and impulsive and I’m always fucking up, right? You could’a said any of those things back then, instead of looking at me how you are now and thinking them!”

Patrice shakes his head, _no, Marchy, I never thought that,_ but he still can’t say anything. Why won’t his jaw just work?

“Y’know what, fine!” Brad bellows. Patrice can see, though, that the rage is an act, that there are tears trying to break free, because even after helping win the Stanley Cup he’s still full of self-doubt. He listed those things because he believes them, he thinks he’s stupid and a hopeless fuckup. Patrice needs so bad to say that none of it is true and he wants to be with Brad, but his mouth just won’t work. “Fine! Fucking side with coach, then, because you’re already perfect and everyone loves you so I’m just going to drag you down with me if I stick around!”

And Brad leaves, slamming the door behind him so hard that the windows rattle on the other side of the apartment. Patrice sinks to his knees, trying to decide which one of them hates himself more right now: Brad, because he really does think that he’s holding Patrice back, or Patrice for letting Brad believe those things when they’re so untrue. Patrice decides he hates himself the most, because he should’ve said something and he doesn’t know why he couldn’t. He grabs onto his own hair, yanking. Then he curls forward so that his face hits the carpet in front of him and screams as hard as he can, putting all the pain into it, because he hurt Brad and that’s the worst feeling he’s had in a very long time. He’ll take another grade III concussion over this.

 _I’m so sorry, Marchy._ Maybe if Patrice thinks it hard enough, Brad will hear it from where he’s undoubtedly crying in the car. _You’re not dragging me down, you’re more than good enough, I love you, I want to keep being with you._

At least Patrice is present enough to realize that Brad won’t be able to listen to him right now if he tries to talk. So when he finally gets up from the floor and reaches for his phone, the first person he calls is Julien.

“Patrice? Do you need something?”

He manages not to give in, to not let the small pilot light of anger burst into an inferno of rage. “I need to know what you said to my boyfriend just now.”

“Oh, so you’re leading me to believe he didn’t immediately start complaining about it?” Julien chuckles.

Patrice knows he means well, really, but it sounds so callous.

“Coach, forgive me, but I don’t think this is very funny.” He swallows. He’s not going to yell if he can help it. “What did you say to Brad?”

“He’s had a crush on you since we went to the final,” Julien answers. “It seems like things might be getting out of hand. He already has some problematic behavior, and the media would have a field day with this.”

“Wonderful,” Patrice huffs. No, no, he’s not going to shout at his head coach. “First of all, it’s not a crush, he’s in love with me, those are two different things. Second, that’s been true since long before we won the Cup together. He told me when we got together in July that he did his best not to let it affect him _for the entire 2010-2011 season,_ but you want to compare this to him making dirty hits on people. He wouldn’t hurt the team on purpose, coach. Today he went and spoke with you about this because he was trying to do the responsible thing for once. Would you prefer if we snuck around instead? If we weren’t honest about it?”

“Pat, don’t you see how this could have a negative impact for the organization?”

“I think if you really wanted to you could keep it from being spun into a negative impact,” Patrice argues. “You and the PR team both. Now… correct me if I’m wrong, since I’m not actually from this country, but isn’t the US still trying to make a big push for equality in professional sports and everything like that? We’re an American team, no matter where each player is born, so shouldn’t our values reflect that? You could make this into an enormous positive step in the world of sports. Instead you’re confronting Brad and making him feel worse about himself than he already does.”

“It’s unprofessional, though. Suppose you get into a fight with each other. How will you perform on the ice after that? Or if you broke up?”

“I see. So you’re trying to break us up preemptively, even though that’s still very damaging. Coach… I’m one of your assistant captains, and you and the media are always going on about how valuable I am to the team, so how can you not trust me that I didn’t already think of these things? Because I have. And I love Marchy. But you’re telling us both we don’t have the right to love each other.”

“I never said that.”

“But you did. Maybe not in those words, but that’s the message you’re sending. Whatever it is you actually said to Brad earlier, you hurt him a lot. You’re hurting me now, too. I’m not going to make excuses for his bad behavior, because he knows when he does something wrong and that’s on him, but this isn’t bad behavior. He should get to be with me if that’s what he wants. And right now, what I really need to be doing is figuring out how I’m going to tell my family the truth about myself, and then tell my team mates so that they’re not left in the dark. Instead I’m on the phone fighting with you about it. It’s very unproductive.”

“You’re not out to your family?”

“Of course not. There are no gay men in the NHL.”

“That’s clearly not true, given the conversation we’re having.”

“But you want to make it that way. You’re saying that I can’t be who I am. You told Brad it’s not okay for him to be who he is. You’re reinforcing every hateful thing either of us has ever heard growing up, which made him not able to tell his family that he’s gay until just last week, and makes it so that I _still_ haven’t explained myself to mine. How much longer can this go on, now that you know the truth about us both? There are a few different things you can do, coach. You could probably get away with trading Brad, but you know the team’s not going to let me leave. Or you could just outright ban us from being in a relationship. If you did either of those things, you probably also understand how much I’ll resent you for it forever. Or you can just let us be. Have the PR team do its thing and make this into an advantage.”

“Then maybe you should be talking to the PR team, don’t you think?”

“You know I’m right, coach,” Patrice insists. “I’ll let you think about it.” And he hangs up without saying anything else.

The next person he calls is his captain. “Pat, hi, how are you doing?”

“Hey, Z… look, I have to talk to you about something.” Patrice proceeds to tell him everything, right up to the fight with Brad a few minutes ago. “Please don’t say anything about this to anyone yet, but… I don’t know what to do now.”

Z is quiet for too long. Finally he sighs softly on the other end. “First, thank you for letting me know. I think you’re very brave for everything you said to coach also. But the next thing you must do is call your family. They deserve to know the truth.”

“I know, but… what if…”

“Pat, don’t ‘what if.’ They love you very much. Even if they don’t understand at first, they’ll still love you, and they’ll figure it out eventually. It’s unlikely they won’t be able to accept you, but in case they don’t… you still have all of us. We’re your family, too. I will also now speak with coach for you, because I agree - whatever he said to Marchy wasn’t okay. But for Marchy, I think you maybe should let him cool off until at least tomorrow. It’s terrible to fight with people you love, and he’s hurting very much right now, so give him some space until he can listen better. And he will eventually. He also loves you very much.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Z.”

“Of course. Please also let me know how it goes with your family… I’m always here for you both.”

“I know. Thank you,” Patrice repeats.

They hang up and he stares at his phone for a minute - he knows he needs to call his mother, but the urge to talk to Brad is very strong. He wants to make things okay between them right away… but Z said not to. Brad won’t be able to hear reason; he was indescribably upset when he left Patrice’s apartment, and right now he’s probably at his own place eating ice cream in the corner of the couch and still sniffling. That mental image is like getting punched in the stomach.

Before he can do anything, though, his phone goes off - and he’s not expecting the person calling.

“Tyler?”

“Bro, what the fuck!” Segs yells. “What did you even do?!”

“I… is Brad with you right now?” Patrice asks, already knowing the answer.

“What do you think?! He just barged in here when I was trying to chill with some Xbox and started drinking all my beer! What the _fuck_ did you say to him?!”

“Tyler, calm down, this wasn’t all me. Julien had a talk with him and when he came to me he was already miserable, and… and then I fucked up big time. It wasn’t on purpose. But I was told to give him space until tomorrow when he’ll be… uh… coherent again.”

“Bergy, you dumbass, you think there’s gonna be a tomorrow for him at all if he downs a fucking twelve-pack in one sitting?! Because that’s what he’s trying to do right now!”

“You’re underage and you shouldn’t have beer anyway,” Patrice answers before he can stop himself. “And why aren’t you trying to take it away from him instead of yelling at me for this? Do you really think I’m going to just sit on my hands and not do anything to try and fix the problem?”

“Can’t you come here and get him or something?!” Seggy demands. “Because no, there’s literally nothing I can do about it on my own, the way he looked at me when I tried to stop him says he’ll break my face if I try again!”

Patrice has so many other things he’d like to say, but things are clearly already out of control if _Tyler Seguin_ is asking him for help. “Alright, I’ll come get him. Try to stop him anyway, and tell him I’m sorry.” He’s already cramming his feet into his shoes without tying them and grabbing his car keys.

“What even are you sorry for? What did you fucking do?” Segs asks again, more panicked than angry now.

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell him I’m sorry and… tell him I said I love him, too.”

 _“Marchy, Bergy’s on his way, he says he’s sorry and that he loves you,”_ Patrice hears distantly. There’s a brief pause as he’s closing the door behind himself and running down the stairs. “Uh… so, he stopped for now, but I think it’s just ’cause he’s crying too hard and can’t swallow. Dude, what the fuck did you say to him?”

“Nothing. Can you finish flipping your shit on me later? I’m already on my way to come get him.”

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

Patrice runs at least three red lights and is shocked when he gets there without being pulled over for speeding. He barely remembers to take his keys out of the ignition before he’s bolting up the stairs of a different apartment building and then banging on the door. When he gets let inside, he’s not impressed by what he sees.

“How long has he been here?” Patrice snaps, looking at the pile and counting six and a half bottles. “Why did you let him do this? Are you stupid?!”

“Me?! This is _your_ fucking fault!” Segs yells.

There’s absolutely no time for the blame game right now, though. Because twenty three year olds are dumb and impulsive anyway, but Brad is particularly dumb and impulsive even for his age and especially when he’s losing it about something. Patrice highly doubts Brad was actually trying to give himself alcohol poisoning, but that’s what ended up happening.

“Go get a blanket and something for him to throw up in if he needs it,” Patrice orders, jabbing a finger in the direction of what looks like Tyler’s bedroom.

Thankfully, Segs shuts up and just does what he’s told for once. Meanwhile Patrice carefully gets Brad off the couch and makes him lie down on the rug, on his side with his knees folded up. He sits, leaning against the front of the couch and stroking down Brad’s hair with his fingers. Thank god preseason doesn’t start until next week, so there’s time to resolve this.

“So like… can you just say what happened?” Segs asks as he passes over the blanket. He mostly just looks afraid on Brad’s behalf, now.

“Does it matter?” Patrice mutters. “I fucked up. That’s the most important thing.”

“Why did you say to tell him you love him?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Patrice is surprised - Brad never shuts up to Seggy about anything.

“I mean, he was like, really sad and crying and shit when he got here. I figured he finally had the balls to ask you out on a date and you said no or some shit like that.”

“No. That’s not what happened,” Patrice answers, shaking his head and not making eye contact. “Like I said before, Julien said some things to him and… it doesn’t matter. I should’ve been there for him but I wasn’t. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Oh, fuck. Um. Look, Bergy, Brad has a thing for you-”

“I’m aware of that. Don’t you think you should let me sort that out with him?” Patrice points out, as if he and Brad haven’t been together for two months already. Seggy doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“Apparently not, since he’s like this right now,” Segs shoots back. “I guess you’re really not perfect after all, man, just like you said.”

“ _Tyler,_ ” Patrice growls, “you need to let it go. Brad has to stay still until he’s less inebriated and I’m not going to sit here listening to you bitch at me for the next five hours when I’m already trying to fix the situation.” He pulls out his wallet and offers his credit card. “Here. Go get pizza.”

“For Marchy?”

“No, for the two of us. He can’t eat or drink anything, either, it could choke him.”

Segs looks at the little rectangle of plastic suspiciously for a second, but finally he agrees and heads out to get them some food. Really, Patrice just wanted him to leave for a few minutes. Brad probably won’t be able to talk for some time, but that’s not going to stop him from trying.

“Marchy,” he whispers, still stroking Brad’s hair, “are you awake?”

“Go’way,” Brad whines. “Mad a’you, Bergy.”

“I know you are… I’m mad at me, too.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah.” Patrice sighs. “Listen. I know you’re not going to remember this when you wake up, but I talked to coach and I told him he was wrong. Then I talked to Z… he said he’ll back us up, and he’s also going to talk with coach about this. I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, too. Something was wrong. I couldn’t talk.”

“Too li’l too late, Bergs,” Brad grumbles. “Don’wanna talk ’bout this’nymore.”

Patrice takes a deep breath. He tries to think of what was going through his head earlier when his tongue stuck to itself. “Marchy, listen. There were a bunch of things I wanted to say and I didn’t know how to say them to you. We’re going to talk about this more tomorrow when you’re feeling better. For right now, though… I understand why you’re unhappy with me. I’m pretty unhappy with me, too. But I really am sorry that I just stood there like an idiot and wasn’t there for you. And… and I need you to know, I… I love you so much. Okay?”

Brad immediately shuffles out of the spot he was put in so that he can drag himself into Patrice’s lap and collapse again, breaking into heaving sobs the way only drunk people can. “They jus’ kept asking ‘why,’” he whines through his tears. “‘Why, Bradley?’ Th’re’s no’nswer t’ that…”

“Who, Marchy?”

“My dad an’my mom,” Brad whimpers. “Jeff an’R’becca an’Melissa were okay w’th it… my p’rents said why… I had girlfriends… they j’st… fuck, Bergy, I don’know why I’m like this, y’know?”

Oh. That actually explains a lot. Because last week, when Brad came out to his family, he’d said that it went fine and then refused to elaborate when Patrice asked. Apparently it didn’t go so fine after all. Which means Brad’s been dealing with this alone for the last six days, and then the thing with Julien, and _then_ Patrice being a dumbass. No wonder he lost it.

“They’ll come around someday,” Patrice promises, and he’s pretty sure it’s true. He hasn’t met Brad’s family yet but he thinks they’re probably good people and will figure it out. “Don’t think about why you’re like this, okay? Just don’t think about it. You’re perfect the way you are. I love you just like this.”

“Not p’rf’ct,” Brad answers, not crying as hard now. He seems to be running out of energy by the second. “You’re p’rf’ct.”

Patrice rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m not perfect either, Marchy. You’ve seen my apartment. I’m a slob.”

“Still p’rf’ct,” Brad insists between sniffs. He swipes ineffectively at his face with one hand. “Love you too, Bergy.”

“I know.” Patrice bends down and kisses the side of his head. “I know you do.”

Brad falls asleep like that, drooling on Patrice’s knee. Patrice could move Brad if he really wanted to, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea and he can stay like this for a few minutes before his feet start to go numb. After everything that happened today, it’s the least he deserves.

Seggy returns a few minutes later, carrying two pizzas and relinquishing Patrice’s credit card immediately. He still looks distrustful of Patrice to an extent, but sets the pizzas on the coffee table beside the pile of beer bottles and at least waits until after they’ve both eaten to start in again.

“So, you gonna just tell me what’s going on now?”

“No, I’m not. It doesn’t matter anymore. I actually do have to pay attention to Brad right now, so stop with this.”

“Why? He’s passed out.”

“Because if he stops breathing, you’ll need to call an ambulance so that I can press down on his ribs. I still can’t believe you just let him do this to himself and waited until it got out of hand before you called me.”

“I mean…” Segs’ ears turn red and he looks anywhere else but at Patrice. “I did try to call you when he got on the third beer but you didn’t pick up, and it was mostly just so I could yell at you anyway for whatever you did to make him flip his shit. Then after the fifth one he puked but kept drinking after… that’s how I knew he was in trouble.” Seggy pauses and looks nervous. “Uh, Bergy, did you know Brad’s gay?”

“Yes, he told me he is a couple months ago.”

“Okay. Good. At least I didn’t out him just now… um, so he had a talk with his parents that didn’t go so well…”

“Yeah, I know that too,” Patrice nods. “How did it sound when he talked to you about it?”

“So like, I don’t know, I don’t think they got mad at him or anything. It didn’t sound like they did. But I guess they just couldn’t get their heads around it or something. I tried to tell him it would be okay but he didn’t believe me.”

“Tyler, listen to me.” He keeps his tone gentle but firm. “You can’t ever do this again. Brad’s having a really hard time with a lot of stuff right now, and he clearly hit his breaking point today. I don’t know if this is going to happen again, but if it does, you can’t let him come to your house and start drinking himself into a coma. So if he shows up having a fit, don’t let him go near your fridge. Lock him in your bedroom or your bathroom or something, and then call me right away. If you can’t get me, then call Z.”

Segs nods, looking guilty. “Do you think… was he trying to…?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to be numb for awhile and overdid it. He’s going to be miserable when he wakes up, but once he’s reasonably sober I’m going to bring him home with me and take care of him.”

“You can’t just leave him here with me?”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“…no.”

“I didn’t think so.” Patrice rests a palm on Brad’s flank and feels him breathing. Good. “I’m going to fix it. He’ll be okay again in a couple days.”

“Why won’t you just say what happened, man?”

“Because it’s not your problem and you need to let it go. If he wants to tell you what happened later on, then he can, but I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Maybe that was a little harsh, but Patrice is still really unimpressed with the fact that Tyler let things get to this point in the first place. He sighs. “Keep an eye on him for a minute, I’ll clean this up.”

He puts the remaining five bottles of Labatt back into Seggy’s fridge, then dumps the half-empty one and piles the mess into the recycle bin. He has another slice of pizza while he’s up, mostly because he knows he’ll be awake until long past midnight waiting for Brad to come to. Once again, thank god preseason doesn’t start until next week.

About an hour later Brad throws up all over the rug, so Patrice moves him to a clean spot amid the complaints of the rug’s owner and has him lying on his side again. Things stay quiet after that until Brad wakes up for real, suffering and still slightly intoxicated but much better than before. It’s 12:30 at night when Patrice gets him into the car and brings him home - he makes Brad drink a large glass of water and then use the bathroom before letting him crash on the couch.

The next morning, Patrice wakes up to the sound of crashing - looking out from his bedroom, it’s because Brad managed to knock some pictures off the wall (probably by bumping into them on his way by) and is now in the bathroom throwing up again. Brad stumbles back out and falls into Patrice’s arms, almost toppling them both to the floor.

“I feel like shit,” Brad groans as he’s half-led, half-dragged to the kitchen table.

“I know. I can’t cook but I do have food.”

“Ugh, no… I’ll probably just puke again…”

“Okay, then. Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Patrice eats some yogurt and watches Brad put way too much cream and sugar into his mug. He’s slightly apprehensive about how the conversation will go when he brings up what happened yesterday, but he knows he has to do it.

“Did you mean it?” Brad demands before Patrice can say anything.

“Mean what?”

“When you said you love me.”

He’s startled, mostly because he figured Brad would be too drunk to remember that. “Of course I meant it. I wanted to say it yesterday… there were a lot of things I wanted to say yesterday before you left, but something was wrong. I couldn’t talk. But… I wish you didn’t say all those shitty things about yourself, about not being good enough and holding me back and everything. Because none of it’s true. You _are_ good enough, and you’re not holding me back. I’m sorry for how the conversation went with your parents, too.”

Brad shrugs. “They brought up a bunch of my past girlfriends. Asked if I was really sure. It wasn’t like they were mean about it or anything. They just didn’t understand.” Patrice sits next to him and hugs him sideways; for a second he worries he’s pushing his luck, but then Brad leans into his touch and relaxes a little. “So you talked to coach, too?”

“Yeah. I gave him a bunch of shit for everything he said to you. Then I called Z and now Z’s given him a bunch of shit, too. So we’ll see what happens… when do you want to come out to the team?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’ll start shit… I’m not used to getting beat up by my own team mates, but that’s what’s going to happen…”

“Nobody’s going to beat you up for this, Marchy. I won’t let that happen and neither will Z. It’s going to be okay.”

Patrice really hopes it’s just Brad’s hangover talking, because right now he looks absolutely crushed. On a young guy with bright smiles who bounces off the ceiling at everything, it’s a horrible demeanor to see: sick, sad, and subdued.

“I have to call my parents and tell them today… do you want to do it with me?” Patrice offers once Brad has finished his coffee.

“You want me to?”

“It would make me feel better if you sit with me while I do it… you don’t have to say anything.”

“Okay.”

Patrice gives Brad some Advil and loans him a pair of sweatpants and a shirt so that he can shower, and after that he seems to be doing better. They settle on the couch and Patrice calls his mom, the phone shaking in his hand. Then Brad leans against his shoulder and he relaxes slightly.

“Hello?”

“Hi, mom, it’s me,” Patrice starts. He swallows. “Is dad there, too? I have to… I have to tell you both something…”

“Alright, hold on.” The phone is put on speaker at the other end. “What do you want to talk about?”

Patrice is so glad that Brad doesn’t speak French, because if he did he’d know how much the mixed response to his own coming out is influencing the situation right now. “Please don’t be upset when I say this, and… and please don’t be confused, either. I… this is me coming out. I have a boyfriend… I’m gay.”

Silence. Then: “Patrice, do you really have to be so terrible?” That’s his father. “You really thought we’d be angry with you for this? Why would you ask us not to be upset? I’m more upset that you said not to be upset!”

“Many people wouldn’t be okay with it,” he hurries to explain. “I’ve been having arguments with Coach Julien about this-”

“But neither of us is your coach,” his mother scolds. “What did we do to scare you about this?”

“Nothing, but… it went weirdly for my boyfriend when he had to do this last week, so I got scared,” Patrice admits.

“Is he there with you? What’s his name?”

“Yeah, he’s here… it’s Brad Marchand.” Brad shifts a little at the sound of his name but says nothing. “I know the media doesn’t like him, but he’s much nicer in person than he is in newspapers. He’s not really a little ball of hate, I promise. He’s actually very sweet and kind, especially to me.”

“Can we speak to him?” Patrice’s father asks.

“Alright.” He holds his phone away for a second. “Marchy, my parents want to talk to you, is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

Now his phone is on speaker, too. “Okay, go ahead,” Patrice prompts, still in French.

His mother talks first. “Hello, Bradley. How are you today?”

“Hi, Mrs. Bergeron… uh, not so great, I’m hungover.”

“That’s too bad. Is my son being nice to you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“He said things may not have gone very well for you the other day,” Patrice’s father puts in. “Are you doing alright?”

“It wasn’t like, awful or anything,” Brad replies. “Just - it was a weird conversation, and… my parents weren’t mad. They just didn’t get it. I couldn’t explain good enough, I guess.”

“Well, if Patrice loves you, then we do too,” his mother declares. “You’ll both be alright.”

Brad smiles. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“Now, you both need to remember to use condoms. I know you can’t get pregnant but they’re still important-”

“Mom!” Patrice shouts, interrupting her and feeling mortified even as Brad bends in half laughing next to him. He takes the phone off speaker and switches back to French. “From now on, you can assume we already know that!”

“Of course you do, because I just told you,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Now, I’m sure you called us first thing in the morning and told us about it because you want us to tell everyone for you and save you the trouble.”

“I would appreciate it,” Patrice admits, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Thank you for being nice to Brad, he’s had an annoying week and now he looks like he feels much better.”

“You’re welcome. Now. If you ever get scared to tell us something for silly reasons again, I _will_ reach through this phone and slap you.”

He laughs. “Okay, mom, I’ll remember that going forward. I also have to talk to coach again this morning, though, so I’ll go for now.”

“Alright. We love both of you.”

“I love you, too, and I’m sure Brad will once he meets you in person. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He slumps over against Brad and closes his eyes for a second. “So that went a lot better than I thought.”

“Your family’s really nice.”

“Yeah, they’re the best.” He turns and presses a kiss to Brad’s hair, which is fluffy and soft from being washed a few minutes ago. “My shampoo smells good on you.”

“Uh… thanks, I guess,” Brad chuckles, twisting around to kiss the underside of Patrice’s chin in response. “Everything seemed way more awful yesterday, but right now it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good,” he smiles, pulling Brad in for a close hug. “Alright. I’m going to take you back to your place so you can put on real clothes, and then we’re going to go hassle coach. If you want I can ask Z to come, too, against the three of us he won’t stand a chance.”

“Sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, PSA about alcohol poisoning: Patrice did things mostly right here, positioning Brad on his side with his knees up, watching his breathing, and making sure he didn't try to eat or drink anything. But he also tried to get Brad talking, which isn't necessary and could cause problems if it upsets the person. You should try to keep the person calm if they've drank too much alcohol, do the things listed above, and don't make them walk around/drink coffee/take a cold shower. Walking around could make them stumble and hurt themselves, drinking coffee just makes things worse because caffeine is a stimulant but alcohol is a depressant, and cold showers could send the person into shock. You also shouldn't make them throw up, because the alcohol has already been absorbed and it could cause them to choke. Sit with them and pay attention to their breathing until they're sober again (probably enlist a friend to help you with this so that you can take breaks) and have them drink water once they're no longer inebriated; NEVER LEAVE THEM BY THEMSELVES. If they're in distress or have stopped breathing, or you have any other reason to believe they're in serious trouble, call an ambulance right away.


End file.
